


Shortcut

by Philomytha



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:19:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/pseuds/Philomytha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evon and Carl Vorhalas have an unexpected encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shortcut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cordialcount](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordialcount/gifts).



"You shouldn't be here," Evon said for the third time. "Idiot."

"I should have gone into one of the other bars," Carl muttered as his brother marched him down the street. " _Any_ of the other bars. This is just my luck."

"Just your luck I found you before it all went wrong and Father found out," Evon retorted. "And now you've ruined my evening." He would have got lucky with Karolina if he'd been able to stay at the bar, he was sure. His ensign's tabs weren't so new and shiny now, after Komarr, and he could tell she was impressed. And then he'd seen his idiot baby brother breeze into the bar as if he was old enough to be there, as if he shouldn't have been tucked up in bed in his school dorm. He glanced at his chrono. Maybe if they hurried, she would still be there when he got back. "Down this way," he said. "Don't dawdle."

He dragged Carl down a shortcut, an alley skirting the edge of the caravanserai. He was in uniform and had a stunner, and there were two of them, and it would cut ten minutes off the walk. 

They were most of the way down the alley when the flickering street lighting suddenly went out. Carl didn't seem to be worried, but Evon flinched and put his hand on his stunner. But he heard no footsteps, and they went on their way in the darkness without trouble until Carl suddenly tripped and a man's voice said, "Fuck."

Evon grabbed Carl's arm with one hand and his stunner with the other.

"There's a person on the ground," Carl said, his voice going high. "I _stepped_ on him." Unexpectedly he produced a handlight from his jacket, and played it around the ground, illuminating a face. Evon didn't recognise the man until his eyes blinked open and he repeated, "Fuck."

"Sir," Evon said in a strangled voice. "Admiral Vorkosigan, sir."

Vorkosigan stared blankly in his direction and said, "Turn that fucking light off and go away."

"Sir," Evon repeated, and dragged Carl onwards. Carl played the light on Vorkosigan a moment longer. 

"He's bleeding," he whispered to Evon. "We can't just leave him there."

Evon kept his gaze straight up. "He gave me an order, Carl," he hissed. "The _Admiral._ Come on." 

"He doesn't order me around," said Carl. "And he's Uncle Rulf's friend." He broke away from Evon's grip and went back to the supine man. Evon saw in the glow from Carl's light that the Admiral's eyes were closed, and he made no response when Carl gingerly bent down and said, "Are you all right, sir?"

Evon had been aide-de-camp to Captain Vorob'yev, and had been in the great strategy sessions before the invasion, taking notes at the back with the other junior officers, but he'd heard the Admiral speak, had watched and listened as he unfolded his tremendous plans for conquering Komarr with barely a drop of blood shed. He'd watched the plans come to fruition from the command deck of one of the light cruisers in Vorkosigan's fleet, and played his own small part in the great war machine Vorkosigan had designed and operated. He'd been on duty too when the sickening news of the massacre had come in. 'The fortunes of war,' Captain Vorob'yev had said calmly when he'd reported the news in an unsteady voice, and he'd felt ashamed of being so weak-hearted about the enemy. Then he'd heard the rest of the story, how Vorkosigan had murdered the Fleet Commissioner and raged and drank, and he'd wondered whether his first reaction had been the right one. 

Vorkosigan lay motionless in the alley. There was going to be a trial, Father had said, for what had happened at Komarr. Evon looked down at him and was surprised by how angry he felt. He had placed all his trust in the Admiral, had followed him without hesitation into battle--and when the fight had become strange and complicated and political, Vorkosigan had simply broken, and left the Fleet in disarray. 

He stood back and watched as Carl tried to rouse Vorkosigan and mopped at the blood on his face with a grubby handkerchief. It was only a small cut in his hairline, probably from some drunken stumble. Vorkosigan's eyes opened, blinked at them without recognition, and closed. 

Grimacing, Evon took the handlight from Carl and played it over Vorkosigan, but saw no further blood. He rolled him onto his side in the approved manner. It was hard, like moving a dead man. 

"What's wrong with him?" Carl asked, which made Evon give a snort.

"You're the one who was heading for the bar," he said. "He's drunk."

"Oh," said Carl quietly. 

They both turned to look at sounds from the far end of the alley: ringing military boots, and then a voice calling, "Aral? Are you down there?"

Evon felt Carl draw breath to answer, and slapped his hand over his brother's mouth. Carl wriggled in protest, and Evon hissed in his ear, "Be quiet!"

The voice called again, and they saw a man silhouetted for a moment at the end of the alley, and then he moved on. Evon didn't let go of Carl until he was well out of earshot.

"What did you do that for?" Carl grumbled. "He was looking for him."

"That was Commodore Lord Vorrutyer," Evon said. "We don't have anything to do with him." 

"Why not?" asked Carl, typically. 

"Because we don't," said Evon. But if he left it at that, Carl would probably crash Vorrutyer's next party just to find out. "He's trouble, Carl. Real trouble. I want you to give me your name's word you won't have anything to do with him."

"Jos Vormoncrief went to one of his parties," Carl volunteered. "He didn't say anything afterwards about what it was like."

"Your name's word, Carl."

Carl hesitated for a while, then made the promise. "But why is he looking for Admiral Vorkosigan?"

Between them, Vorkosigan mumbled something indistinct at his name, but when Evon turned the light on him, his eyes were still shut. He didn't answer. 

"There's a public call booth at the corner of Goldsmith Street," he said. "Here's two marks. Go and call Uncle Rulf and tell him about Admiral Vorkosigan and see what he says." He'd wanted a comm link of his own, but they were expensive on a lieutenant's salary and he couldn't take his official one home. According to Da, galactic imports would be easier to come by now that they had cheaper passage through Komarr. Carl took the coin and jogged off back the way they'd come, away from where Vorrutyer had been. Evon sat back on his heels and waited.

The sounds of the city were distant and muted here, the rumble of the monorail line, voices in a Russian cadence. Vorkosigan's breathing was loud and heavy by comparison, echoing off the high walls close on either side. Evon shuffled a few steps away uncomfortably, but then Vorkosigan coughed and spluttered, and he had to get close again to check his airway was clear, and this time Vorkosigan opened his eyes and looked at him. 

"I know you," Vorkosigan muttered. "Justin?"

Something prompted Evon to say, "Evon Vorhalas, my lord," instead of stating his military rank. 

"Justin's boy," Vorkosigan said. "Yes. You were there." He didn't have to specify where _there_ was.

"Yes."

Vorkosigan struggled to raise his head. "And do you hate me, Justin's boy?"

Evon hesitated a long time. But there was no danger of Vorkosigan remembering any of this in the morning. "Yes," he said.

"Good," Vorkosigan whispered, falling back again. Then, "Why?"

"You led us into battle," he said, equally quietly, "but you didn't lead us out again."

Vorkosigan's eyes drifted closed, and Evon had to lean in close enough to smell the stale alcohol on his breath to hear his response. "That's because I'm still there." 

It was drizzling. Evon took off his jacket and put it across Vorkosigan, and waited for Carl to return. 

When he did, it was with Uncle Rulf, and there was the sound of the groundcar's engine at the end of the alley. They tramped down with more handlights, and Uncle Rulf nodded to Evon.

"I'm glad you called me," he said, and then stooped down and seized Vorkosigan by the shoulder. "Aral, you idiot," he said, the rough words belied by the fond tone. "What were you thinking? Come on, let's get you home."

Vorkosigan didn't rouse, and for simplicity's sake Evon and his uncle carried him between them back to the groundcar and put him on the rear seat. 

"Will he be all right?" asked Carl. 

"Oh, he'll be fine," said Uncle Rulf, smiling, but when he turned to look at Evon there was worry in his eyes. "Now, shall I drop you back at school before anyone notices you're out?"

"I'll walk him back," said Evon. "Then you can--" He nodded to Vorkosigan. 

"Yes," said Uncle Rulf. "I daresay I'll have my hands full enough. I don't suppose Aral will remember enough to say this, but thank you. You've done a good thing tonight. Even if you were playing truant." 

"He's the Hero of Komarr," Carl said. "Of course we had to help."

Uncle Rulf met Evon's eye then, and Evon gave a slow nod. "Yes," he said, "of course we did."


End file.
